


Dugout Confessionals

by goddess_julie



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boston Red Sox, Hand Jobs, M/M, mini nanowrimo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddess_julie/pseuds/goddess_julie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarrod is lamenting on an obstruction call that ended Game 3.  Stephen has his own issues with the game.  A meeting in the dugout afterwards gives them new perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dugout Confessionals

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as my Day 1 fic for Mini Nanowrimo on LJ. I'm doing 30 fics in 30 days in different fandoms. This is my first baseball fic (despite the thousands that play out in my head daily).

The stadium was eerily silent. The faint sound of traffic could be heard but other than that, there was nothing echoing in the air around him. Nothing except the sound of his own heart beating, the pump of the blood rushing through his veins. Not to mention the constant ringing that echoed in his ears as of late. It was the season that no one predicted. The Boston Red Sox coming off the worst year in the history of their team, finishing last overall in the American League East were not expected to fare much better in 2013. But they had John Farrell back in their clubhouse and Jarrod Saltalamacchia was awestruck at just how hard the guys worked for this man. John had left them in 2010 to coach the Toronto Blue Jays when he couldn’t get the position in Boston. The Red Sox skipper had been his dream job, but to get noticed he’d have to go somewhere else first.

Now he was back in Boston and taken them from laughing stock of the American League to a force to be reckoned with. And they were games away from winning the whole fucking thing. Except it hadn’t happened that way, one missed throw and the Cardinals were up 2 games to 1. In fucking St. Louis, on their home turf. St. Louis wanted the win, they wanted it nearly as bad as Boston did, and it had been a lucky fucking moment to be able to make the double play in the clutch moment. Except he’d thrown it away and now they’d lost the god damn game. It was a bitter pill for Salty to take.

If Boston didn’t win the World Series the onus would be on him, and Salty hated thinking that because he was tired, because he’d gotten sloppy, they might lose.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, sleeping off the game?” A voice startled Jarrod out of his thoughts. He turned around, surprised to see Stephen Drew leaning against the railing to the dugout.

“Could say the same to you,” Jarrod replied, voice thick from screaming too much earlier and underuse in the past few hours since the game had ended. When Stephen nodded a silent request to join Jarrod, he tipped his own head and slid down the bench a little bit.

“It’s all so fucking unreal,” Stephen’s eyes were focused out on the field ahead of him, his jaw tight. How one little ball can make or break you.”

“Or one slight movement of the wrist and you’re fucked, “ Jarrod agreed.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Stephen said with a huff of his breath. Before Jarrod could respond Stephen continued. “Will didn’t catch it. He missed the ball, it was his obstruction. That had nothing to do with you.”

“My throw.”

“You want a pity party?”

Jarrod gave a soft chuckle and leaned back, his arms behind his head and his face tilted up to look at the sky. “I just … fuck. Farrell’s starting Ross. Possibly for the rest of the series.” Jarrod closed his eyes, he didn’t want Drew to see the hurt in their depths. He’d had a good run of games, starting more than not. But they were in the World fucking Series and now because of one fuck up, Ross was starting.

“It’s not because of the obstruction,” Stephen said softly.

“Do you know for sure?”

They both knew he didn’t. And they both knew that if Farrell had his reasons for starting someone else in a position, he wasn’t about to tell them what they were unless he wanted to. So Jarrod was left to speculate, which always lead him to trouble.

“At least you’re putting up numbers at the plate,” Stephen said bitterly. “I’m fucking … I haven’t hit to base once since we started this series. Nowhere near what I should be doing and definitely not enough for them to want to resign me next year.”

Their eyes met and Jarrod knew that nothing he could say would make anything better for the other man. Just like nothing Stephen would say could make him feel better in that moment. It was the nature of the game and more importantly, the side effects of loving the game with their whole heart. Silence fell over them until Stephen spoke again.

“Salty, you’re good, you’re really fucking good and one fucked up play that wasn’t even your fault won’t change that.” Stephen looked self conscious as Jarrod gave a soft smirk. “What’s so funny?”

“You’ve never called me Salty before.” Jarrod’s grin widened as he saw the other man blush and look down. Jarrod thought about it and realized he’d never really spoken at length to Stephen before, let alone about anything serious. He watched a myriad of emotions flutter across Stephen’s face and he felt a tightness in his gut, a hunger of want in his groin. “What was that?”

“You’re … you’re Jarrod fucking Saltalamacchia. You’re constantly surrounded with Dustin and Gomes and part of this epic heart of the Sox and I get here this year and … well I’m on the outside looking in. You are pretty damn untouchable and there’s never been a reason to…” Stephen took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ll shut up now.”

“No, please don’t. Please tell me how fucking awesome I am.”

Stephen must have heard the teasing in his tone because he smiled softly and their eyes met. “It seems you already know.”

Jared slid closer to where Stephen sat and gently put his hand on the other man’s knee. He paused for a moment to see what Stephen would do, knowing that his reaction would dictate what he would continue with. If Stephen flinched away, Jarrod would pull his hand off and pat it like that was what he’d intended. If he didn’t … well before he could get to that part, Stephen widened his legs and sat back a little bit, as if inviting Jarrod to touch more and higher. Jared gave a grin and felt his cock twitch.

“Maybe I should tell you how fucking awesome you are,” Jarrod’s voice dropped to a husky growl. Tell you how great you are with some wood in your hands, how impressed I am with your bat work.” Jarrod let his hand skim up Stephen’s thighs to cup his bulge firmly, stroking and squeezing with a gentle hand. He watched Stephen’s eyes flutter shut and a groan escape his lips.

“S…salty…” Stephen murmured. “Fuck, are you…”

“Shhhhh, let me relax you. Maybe you’re just too tense,” Jarrod purred. He pushed Stephen down so that he was laying on the bench, his legs spread on either side of the wood panel. With deft fingers, Jarrod unbuttoned Stephen’s jeans and slid them down off of his hips and to about mid thigh. His mouth watered as Stephen’s cock jut up, leaking at the tip.

“Oh god,” Stephen gasped as Jarrod began to slowly stroke his erection, twisting his fist with each upstroke.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Jarrod mumbled, licking up one side and down the other. 

Stephen jumped at the roughness of the beard on his thighs. “Fuck, your beard…”

Jarrod lifted his head and frowned. “I’m sorry, does it…”

“It’s so fucking hot. You have no idea how I want to feel that on every inch of me, how that beard makes me want such dirty things from you, to do dirty things TO you,” Stephen pulled Jarrod’s face up so that they were nose to nose. Without hesitation he leaned in and kissed Jarrod hungrily, locking their tongues together as he tried to open his mouth enough to swallow the other man whole. “Must jerk off at least three times a day thinking about you with this beard.”

Jarrod grinned as he moved his way back to Stephen’s groin. He picked up the other man’s cock again and swallowed it down fully, until his nose was in Stephen’s pubic hair. He bobbed his head furiously, wanting to get as much as Stephen down his throat, hollowing out his cheeks to suck his orgasm from him quickly. Stephen’s hands found their way into the curls at the nape of Jarrod’s neck and he began to thrust his hips in short, jerky movements. 

It was only a matter of time before Stephen was warning Jarrod that he was going to come, his whole body trembling and a thin sheen of sweat had coated his face and thighs. Stephen watched in awe as Jarrod swallowed his release without complaint. His eyes tracked the movement of Jarrod’s throat, wanting nothing to lean in and lick the corded muscle that was teasing him. Once he was able to pull himself together, Stephen sat up and tugged at Jarrod’s sweat pants. “Here… let me …”

“You don’t have to,” Jarrod protested as he lifted his hips. Stephen shook his head and pulled Jarrod’s cock out of the confines of his pants.

“Want to jerk you, “Stephen said as his tongue traced Jarrod’s jaw. “Want to feel your dick in my hand.” 

It took less than a dozen sharp tugs on Jarrod’s cock before he came, spurting release up and all over Stephen’s shirt and hand. Without hesitation, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them before leaning in and kissing Jarrod playfully. 

When they were both put back together, clothes settled and wrinkles attempted to be smoothed out, Jarrod leaned in and gave Stephen one last kiss on the mouth, letting their tongues duel between them. He cupped Stephen’s jaw and whispered ‘..so damn sexy..’ against his lips, ‘gonna get me in some trouble I reckon.’

Stephen saw no heat in his eyes, no genuine accusation in his voice, so he smiled. “I’m not sorry.”

Jarrod grinned. “Wouldn’t want you to be.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. It was Stephen who spoke first. “We’re gonna win this thing, I can feel it Salty.” 

Their eyes met and both men gave a shy smile. Jarrod nodded. “Me too, at least this way we can win it on our turf.”

“Exactly.”

Jarrod felt his pulse race as he saw the fire in Stephen’s eyes. If this was what happened after a loss, he couldn’t wait to meet up with the other man after a win. 

Especially a World Series win.

 

Finis


End file.
